


Plenty of Time

by and_i_take_it



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Endgame, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_i_take_it/pseuds/and_i_take_it
Summary: A tiny endgame extension, picking up right before they kissed.





	Plenty of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Canon isn't really my thing, but I love you all so much and wanted to celebrate endgame with you. :)

Ian gazed down at Mickey, swallowing hard around the lump that was forming in his throat. His searching eyes told him that the man was really there, that he could _see_ him, that he wasn’t just another cruel trick of his mind. He could _feel_ his stubble against his palm, could _sense_ the heat of his body under him. Mickey was there, with him, for him, and he was fucking beautiful.

Ian might have stared at him for an eternity had it not been for Mickey’s fingers curling onto his neck and drawing him closer. He sank to his lips, into their familiar softness, realizing he’d never forgotten how they tasted. He guided their kiss from above, firm but so slow, his mouth making an effort to say what it hadn’t with words, to somehow express all the love and relief and gratitude that had set his racing heart aflutter. 

His lips stumbled when his emotions overcame him and he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that wanted to fall. He paused, their foreheads pressed together, and mumbled, “Sorry,” against Mickey’s lips. He wanted to kiss him, to never stop kissing him, but he was overwhelmed.

Mickey rubbed the skin beneath his fingers reassuringly. “It’s okay,” he told him. “We’ve got lots of time.” 

Ian shook his head ever so slightly at the surrealness of that. Time. They’d never had time. 

He dared to look at him again, forced himself to return Mickey’s tender gaze even if it let years of unshed tears escape. A single one slipped out followed by another and another but Mickey caught them with gentle fingertips when Ian released the hold he’d had on his arm. He lowered his face into the warmth of Mickey’s neck, let them fall freely there, bathing the pillow beneath their heads as he breathed deep his favorite scent, suddenly feeling freer in prison than he ever had on the outside. Mickey didn’t say a thing, just held him with soothing strokes and caresses until he’d run himself dry.

When he finally lifted his head and focused his red rimmed eyes back on Mickey, he attempted to lighten the mood with a smirk. “Okay, I'm ready to make out again,” he joked.

Mickey smiled softly and teased, “You soaked my pillow, asshole."

Ian shrugged. “It’s my pillow too.”

“Is that right?” Mickey asked with eyebrows high.

“There’s not a chance in hell you’re getting me out of this bed." 

“You gonna turn it black with all that fuckin’ tar on your head?”

“Like you’d kick me out if I did,” Ian scoffed knowingly.

Mickey trailed his fingers through Ian’s dark hair. “Why the fuck would you dye it?”

“I was gonna run to Mexico. Try and find you.”

Mickey tucked his lip between his teeth and took a long breath through his nose. He clearly hadn’t expected that. “Good thing you didn’t,” he said quietly. 

“Good thing,” Ian agreed. He grinned as Mickey pulled him back to his mouth. 

“Love you,” Mickey breathed between unhurried kisses, as if he needed to say it, as if it wasn’t the most blatantly obvious thing in the entire world. 

Ian stilled and locked their eyes. “I love you, too,” he whispered earnestly, and he hoped Mickey could tell just how much he meant it even if the words sounded insufficient to his own ears.

If he’d have trusted himself to form sentences out of his churning thoughts he would have told him how much he’d missed him, that he’d been fucking lost without him, that he’d been searching for the Ian that he was when they were together and calling it God, that he’d realized what a mess he’d made of them, of everything, and that he was so, so sorry. But he couldn’t, not yet, and he bent back to Mickey’s gracious lips so thankful that he had plenty of time to figure out how.


End file.
